


Chiaroscuro: More Than This

by sabrina



Category: Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 04:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5695030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrina/pseuds/sabrina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin’s POV after destroying the Tusken Raiders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chiaroscuro: More Than This

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2003 and recently rediscovered.

The gray metal was smooth in his hands. He turned it over and over, feeling the firm certainty of machinery beneath his fingers: Spark plugs, wires, pieces of hyper drives, and circuitry. Each piece had its place, plugging it into another piece created a spark of life, and one piece connected to another piece on and on until there was a droid, a spaceship… a pod-racer. 

How long had it been since he’d fixed something? When was the last time that he’d held a piece of machinery in his hand and connected wires, plugs, and circuitry to produce a useful object? Reaching to the bench he picked up a screwdriver and began connecting pieces together: putting it together: making it work. It was something he was good at; sometimes Anakin wondered if it was the only thing he was good at. 

Should he have left? Perhaps all those years ago he should have stayed where he was. 

If he’d stayed, perhaps his Mother would still be alive. Although, perhaps not, as he would not have had the Jedi training to save her… but then he hadn’t saved her, had he? He’d been too late. If only he’d paid more attention to the dreams, came back weeks ago, he would have been in time to take her back from those animals: to save her from that fate. He’d known, in the back of his mind, that those dreams were more than Obi-Wan had given them credit to be. He’d been uneasy for weeks now, and if only he had listened, even if it meant disregarding Obi-Wan’s wishes.

Years ago, he’d realized that he would not make it back to see his Mother while he was a Padawan Learner. Perhaps when he was a Jedi Master he would have the freedom to, and it had been that hope that had kept him going through long lonely nights when he’d lain awake, knowing Obi-Wan lay awake in the room nearby, grieving for his lost Master. Early in his training, Obi-Wan had explained that for Jedi, their Masters were their parents, the Padawan learners around them were their siblings, and their temple was their home. But the temple had never truly been Anakin’s home and though he had felt close to Obi-Wan, the other Jedi Masters treated him with an edge of uncertainty as if they were handling fine Alderanian crystal. The other Padawan learners had never truly accepted him. They had never been his brothers. 

And ironically, he had now learned he had a brother. A stepbrother, but a brother nonetheless, a real sibling; and yet, even this sibling looked at him with that wary brand of curiosity he was so familiar with. Like the Padawans in the temple who would speak politely but keep their distance, this half brother of his spoke to him but kept him at arms length, perhaps jealous, perhaps frightened… Perhaps he should be frightened.

Anakin had frightened himself. 

His actions over the last twenty-four hours had violated a hundred Jedi Codes. From leaving Naboo with the senator he was sworn to protect, dragging her half way cross the galaxy into gangster inhabited space, to the camp he had slaughtered last night, he’d blatantly disregarded ten years of training because of dreams and feelings—giving so much credence to both was another blatant violation. Visions were to be used as guideposts, another tool in the Jedi’s grasp to help guide future actions—not to command future actions. 

The blantant stench of dead and decaying animals left outside the camp. The snarling of dogs fighting over bones. The eerie shadows cast upon the huts from the moons joined by the green of his lightsaber. 

In his frustration, his anger— 

He’d cut down the guards outside the hut—the Jedi were the Guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy—And this was justice. There were times when peace could only come after fighting. There were times when creatures that could not be made to understand reason, those who cut down innocents, needed to be destroyed. Those who would take a woman that meant nothing to them and beat her—kill her—they deserved punishment, they deserved to die, and somebody needed to be the guardian of justice. Somebody needed to have the courage to take a stand. 

Angry at the raiders for forcing him to find his mother like this: angry at his inability to stop the inevitable: angry at Obi-Wan for dismissing his visions as nothing more than dreams that should not be heeded. 

Anakin had allowed that feeling to wash over him in waves, reaching out to the tip of the green blade he held in his hand. He’d never felt anything quite like it. He’d used his lightsaber to fight many times before. It was, as Obi-Wan reminded him time and again, a Jedi’s life. When you used it, you reached out to the Force and let that energy flow through you from your head to the tips of your fingers until the lightsaber was only an extension of yourself. Obi-Wan had told him a hundred times that one day he would know that economy of movement and integration of weapon with self, and for once, it seemed, Obi-Wan had been right. 

He pried at the shifter with his fingers, knowing in the back of his mind that his anger was what had caused that smooth extension and that his anger had tapped into something far more dangerous than the Tusken Raiders. All of his justification, that the animals deserved what they got, that he was simply dishing out justice to the creatures that had murdered his mother, it did nothing to soothe the deep knowledge that he had failed. Not just his mother, but also the Jedi. Had Obi-Wan been there, he would have no doubt lectured Anakin on the danger of anger to the Jedi way of life. He would have told him it was not his place to sweep through an entire village in retaliation. Obi-Wan would have told him to find his center, that he must force his feelings to serve him and not the other way around. 

The shifter collapsed under his grasp, one piece shooting off into one of the far corners of the work area. Frustrated, Anakin took a deep breath, trying to find that center as Obi-Wan had taught him, trying to come to grips with the events of the last twenty-four hours, with the anger, frustration, and hard hatred still lurking in his soul. 

Anakin felt her presence before she entered the work area. Perhaps, the one thing in his crazy mind that made sense, that felt real—right. Obi-Wan claimed that a Jedi should be the most calm when he was connected to the Force: at one with the Galaxy around him. Anakin turned the flat steel cover over in his hand, and wondered why it was then that the last few days had been the calmest he could remember for years? Just being around her stilled the turbulence racing through his mind and for a brief moment he touched that core within himself where he could feel some peace.

‘I brought you food.’

He swallowed, that center of calm shimmering under the twin forces of anger and hatred like the desert sands under the unrelenting force of Tatooine’s twin suns. He didn’t look up immediately, turning the piece of machinery in his hands over again. The shifter had completely broken off, the metal connectors sharp and jagged where the metal had shattered under the pressure he’d applied. It could be fixed, but not without welding the original connector, or possibly a rebuilt connector onto the piece. 

‘Anakin?’

She stood on the step, the tray she’d brought him still in her hands. He lightly ran a finger over the jagged edge of the broken connector. It was sharp, before welding he’d need to take a smoother to it. He could fix it. 

As he’d fixed a million things before—except for those things he could not fix. The people he could not save and what if one day Padme was one of those people? He set the shifter down roughly and stared at the myriad of tools covering the workstation.

‘The shifter broke,’ he said finally. He hesitated, mustering control in his words. ‘I would fix it, but I don’t see a welding pipe.’

She stepped towards him, leaving the tray on the workstation next to him. 

‘It’s easier, you know,’ he grimaced. ‘When you’re fixing things. So much easier.’

‘Anakin…’ she took another step towards him and he turned away.

‘But when you can’t fix them,’ he forced the words between his lips. ‘When you’re too late.’ He shook his head and turned away, drawing air between pursed lips, suddenly all too aware of the urge to strike out again, and at anything. ‘Why? I don’t… Why?’ 

The last question was nearly a yell and he swallowed hard, feeling his anger threatening to overflow again. He needed to forgive, to calm his center, to let go of the hatred and the anger poisoning his body, but he wasn’t certain he could forgive or let go. 

‘I couldn’t fix it.’ He said, spinning to face her. ‘I tried, I couldn’t. I was too late. I wasn’t strong enough.’

‘It wasn’t your fault, Ani,’ he could feel her hesitation as she stood on the other side of the room. A cautiousness mixed with sympathy and tinged with a hint of uncertainty. ‘Sometimes you can’t fix things.’

‘But I should be able to,’ he slammed his hand down on the counter of the workstation. ‘I always can fix things. I’m good at fixing things! Why?’ He shook his head, aware of tears that were very nearly going to spill over. Suddenly furious at his inability to control his own emotions, he pulled his hand back and threw one of the tools across the room. It bounced against the wall, ricocheted off of an used land speeder and lay close to the wall in a pile of Tatooine sand. ‘Why couldn’t I fix it?’

She was quiet for a minute and then: ‘You can’t fix everything, Anakin.’ 

‘I hate them, Padme,’ he turned back around to meet her eyes. She had come with him to find his mother, but why? And would she turn from him now? No longer wishing to be seen with a failure: a failed son, a failed Jedi, a failed human…? ‘I hate them. All of them.’

He stared at her, seeing mirrored in the uncertainty of her eyes, the disappointment and reprimand that would be present in Obi-Wan’s. Never mind that Anakin had finally felt that connection with his weapon that he’d never before felt. Obi-Wan would not see that, he would only see the codes that Anakin had violated in getting there. Obi-Wan would chastise him for breaking those codes and never understand that Anakin had felt that connection to the Force even as he was striking down the camp. Obi-Wan could never see the good he’d done, choosing only to focus on the things that he should fix. His failures. 

‘Of course you’re angry, Anakin,’ she started. ‘Your mother-’

‘I should have saved her.’

‘You can’t save everyone Anakin.’

‘I should be able to. I dreamed I could, when I was a boy: All the people in trouble, in pain. I wanted to help them. It’s why I became a Jedi. To save people, Padme. I can’t even save my mother?’ 

‘Anakin,’ her voice softened and she took a step towards him.

He pulled back and turned away from her. The muscles in his back were so tightly coiled. ‘It’s Obi-Wan’s fault. He’s holding me back. He’s not letting me achieve the full potential of what I could be! He knows what it is, and he’s scared of it! Jealous of it! I felt it today,’ he turned back around and met her gaze. ‘As I held my lightsaber in my hands and I struck down those people, no,’ he shook his head. ‘The monsters, that murdered my mother, as I struck them down I could feel it in my hands, in my body, and I know I can be more than this.

‘I should be more than this! Why must I be angry to be what I could be?’

‘Anger is human Anakin,’ she stepped forward. ‘Everyone is angry at times-’

‘Not Jedi,’ he protested, lifting his chin in the air and holding his voice like steel to keep the quiver from showing through. ‘We’re better than that. Jedi don’t feel anger, we don’t feel hate, we forgive-’ He shook his head and wrinkled his brow to keep the moisture from spilling over his eyes. ‘I can’t forgive them Padme! I just can’t! They’re animals, worse than animals. They murdered my mother! I can’t forgive them. They deserve to pay.’ He reached out and grabbed her arm, locking his eyes with hers, his voice hard as flint. ‘I made sure they paid.’

‘Anakin, what did you do?’ He could feel the fear in her but her voice betrayed none of it. 

‘I gave them what they deserved,’ his jaw set. ‘I murdered them. Every single one of them. They won’t murder any other innocents.’

‘Anakin…’

‘It was justice,’ he demanded, even as his soul screamed that it wasn’t. ‘Justice!’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, placing her other arm on his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry you’re hurting.’

The kindness in her words sent his facades crumbling to the ground and he turned. ‘Why can’t I forgive them Padme? Why am I so angry? I shouldn’t be. Jedi don’t become angry. Who am I kidding? I should be much more than this.’

He pulled away and stood in front of the counter, turning to slide down so his back sat against the wall. ‘I’m a Jedi. I should be more than this. Someday, I will be more than this. My Mother would want me to be more than this. I can’t fail her, Padme. I can’t fail her.’

He felt rather than saw her sit next to him. She touched his shoulder tentatively and with the touch, he felt every wall break apart and the tears he’d been trying so hard to suppress tumbled to the surface. She slipped her arms around him and he wept for the saviour he’d never be, each tear granting growth to a steely determination to become more—to be the most powerful Jedi. Ever.


End file.
